347e

mbrazfieldm(c) 2020

the thoughts of the sounds you make your face in pain your eyes ash gray grow like wild honey suckle vines outward from the insides of my composting heart

look she says can i get a break today my blood borrowed by thirteen murder scenes lined up coming from my vocal chords ready for the gate to fall

i know the demons they feed well from me the prescription don’t eat before the range or you’re gonna get rotted rice and peas rolling down your caved in chest

the elders said before you were set free to the prison this would be caution daughter and sons your fathers were  heavy into maleficent fun be advised that their sins you’ll be liquidating

my last one

photo: mbrazfieldm (c) 2024

he’s in a little cedar box
with an American flag tied to him
she sighs through the cat hair
and dust in the sunlight of the room
particles dance float and flip
she speaks in tender fondness
sweet pink cotton candy memories
for my ears to receive
now their father is gone too
the remains? they will cremate
him soon
she ponders for 37 seconds
should they share the cedar box
then she changes her mind
the radio music pounds in fog
from somewhere in her bathroom
i don’t think the children would
like that
for my second husband to share
a resting place with my last one

generic chp. 8

it’s the little poisons she thought as he spoke about trials foisted upon him as a child by the needs of selfishness and delirious desires of unbridled women his skin pocked with stab wounds stitched up in classic county hospital overworked student staff he groaned in self pity he’d forgotten why he was there in the first place we spoke for 23 minutes more then parted as patient and professional

4

when i was 4
i followed you around
my old man young
at 25 raging away
at red blooded expectation
it was on those
pavements where i walked
in my buster browns
rock hard Bazooka Joe
in my jaws learning
to crush the pain
even at 4 i
disagreed with the politics
of calling you daddy
3 hours after you
smacked my mommy in
her mouth of hate
4 was an age
of converging lives desperate
for an out away
from each other though
my post infant mind
inherently knew that this
trip would not be
the last to take
place in yours and
hers non sequitur marriage

para el 7

mbrazfield (c) 2024

today they’ll bury the 7
and hell has now imploded
silence in his scream
the noise in between
rage and shame
dissipated away in the fog
there will be no match
in a durge to the bravado
of your life you way your death
today they will not bury
rage pain hate sting fate
helplessness is not charity
dignity is gambled away
your darkness washed away
clearing the way for come what may
larger than life
you taunted the death
which inevitably takes all of us
no more yells pounding beats fueled by broken ideals
with heart in hand
and blunt inhaled
triumphant in your world
yet crying on the dark side
of the moon

hoy enterrarán al 7
y el infierno ahora ha implosionado
silencio en su grito
el ruido en el medio
rabia y vergüenza
disipado en la niebla
no habrá partido
en un duro a la bravuconería
de tu vida tu camino tu muerte
hoy no enterrarán
rabia dolor odio picadura destino
impotencia no es caridad
la dignidad se juega
tu oscuridad se lavó
despejando el camino para lo que pase
mas largo que la vida
te burlaste de la muerte
que inevitablemente nos lleva a todos
no más gritos golpeando ritmos impulsados por ideales rotos.
con el corazón en la mano
y contundentemente inhalado
triunfante en tu mundo
aún llorando en el lado oscuro
de la luna

porra, papai

mbrazfield (c) 2024

some days were sad gray uneventful
most days were brutal confusing painful
rarely did we need or want to smile
the looks the words the anger the hate the ridicule the shame the blame the abandonment
marching on in my head time middle fingered me on my knees crawling on the tarmac of the road to hell paved with no intention
Mutter turned her head like a queen in agreement
i could not comprehend
where do i make sense
papai misguided man
leading dragging his daughter
slaughter wood chipper of life
but i’m grown now
your dice followed you to where you went
my words hushed heaven will never live here anymore Gehenna had bought the country
healing compassion empathy sympathy turning of the cheeks fasting sacrificing keeping score patronizing scarification complete spirit annihilation
i was never meant to be your Issac

another time

mbrazfield (c) 2024

flag display in the El Pavo Real DTLA jewelry gallery on Broadway these beauties have hung there since my kidhood seeing them there so dignified brought back so many wonderful and tragic memories Bruce Lee movies arcades colorful candied almonds parents embroiled in DV fear panic and coloring books fat crayons my pigtails and witnessing fatal drunk fights the stars in the sky an upward continuum of the light bulbs on the marquees and the ever hypnotic Million Dollar Theater and the frightening giant Victor’s Clothing blue groom and so forth and so on Los Angeles here I am your daughter….